Bang
by Jaclyn840
Summary: The shot that started a war. A District 11 Peacekeeper's thoughts as he kills the old man. Canon/Oneshot


**A/N: Written for the Caesar's Palace Nova Challenge Prompt: Bang.**

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"Sometimes I just force myself to think that it's just recoil I'm feeling," - Unnamed Veteran.

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"Sergeant, do you have a visual of the man?" the voice crackles in his earpiece. The sergeant presses it against his ear; he can hear his Commander loud and clear, but does so out of habit and to show his compliance.

He looks at the Victors leaving through the Justice Building door, and the crowds of people starting to shout and surge forward.

"Roger, he's an elderly. Red shirt. Blue overalls. Front of the crowd," he answers, unsure of whether he wants to hear the next order, and pondering if he should have replied in the negative. He looks at the crowd, their voices rising in fury; and at the single platoon of twenty-four peacekeepers forming a line in front. Usually one platoon would be enough, _but not today_; not after what those two lovebirds from 12 did.

"Terminate in view," the commander orders. The sergeant doesn't have to ask again what it means; in twelve years he's done it so many times the faces start to blur into one another in his dreams. _Terminate in view -_ to kill a person in full view of their loved ones and the rest of the District. As an example, to show them the Capitol has the power to give life and to take it away. _Mostly take away. _

Like the ease of a conductor conducting an orchestra, he waves a gloved finger at the man, motioning for him to be brought up to the stage, and two Peacekeepers immediately step out from the line with batons drawn, beating and punching their way through the crowd. _They're good lads, _he thinks, _young and eager. Pity they had to choose Peacekeeping. _He stifles a laugh at the word again – Peacekeeping. The Sergeant was like them once – young and eager. He volunteered to be a Peacekeeper the moment he could, being drawn in by the prospect of a good salary and seeing all Panem had to offer. The scenery fascinated him – having grown up in District 2 where he saw nothing but rocks. He was amazed by murals of the long sandy beaches of 4, the endless woods of 7 and the rolling hills of 12. The orchards of 11 looked like a paradise to him, rich and teeming with life.

He enlisted and got sent to 11, where he saw nothing but death.

They say, after your fifth year of becoming a Peacekeeper, your soul hardens and you become merely an extension of the Capitol's tyranny. Because by then, if you haven't killed yourself or gotten medically discharged, there's no saving a soul accustomed to inflicting pain and misery upon people.

He looks at the two boys, who have found the old man and have started beating him into submission. _Don't beat him you fools, _he thinks, _don't give the crowd hope that's all he's going to receive. _He starts for the stage, and speaks into his earpiece, "Sir, I don't have enough men to hold the Justice building. The crowd looks red-hot." He looks over at the line of his men holding the people back. The people have started throwing objects: shoes and stones and whatever they can get their hands on.

"Sergeant, we will proceed to OP-PLAN2 in the event of a major disturbance," the commander replies. He looks at the cavalry units in their armored trucks and hears machine-guns cocking in his ear piece.

OP-PLAN2 always worked; shoot up a bunch of people and the rest will flee. But there's something about today, something Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark did which lit a fire in the hearts of these people. Of all the Victory Tour duties he has done, he's never seen a disturbance like this before. He's heard rumors of rebellion, but they were all passing whispers, never the shouts in the daylight he's heard recently. District 11 is a tinderbox of fuel-soaked straw, the spark has been lit; today he will witness what it means for a District to catch fire, and to hell with OP-PLAN2, it's only going to make it worse.

_I don't mind, _he thinks, mounting the steps to the Justice building. _I just hope the mob makes it quick when they tear me to pieces. _

He begins to envision Panem after all this is over. Perhaps the fire will spread, the Capitol will fall. There might be another tyrannical government. There might even be peace, who knows? Anything would be better than what the Districts are enduring now. After twelve years of beating and killing peasants, he had lost all hope in humanity; and in himself. Although, there's one thing which never failed to amaze him: these dark-skinned folk who toiled in the fields, they never gave up. They endured the whip and the baton and the bullet, and continued singing their songs in the fields, celebrating childbirths and weddings and never losing the spark in their eyes. The Capitol broke their own Peacekeeper's souls faster than they could break the Districts. _Hope_, he thinks, pulling out his pistol, _the only emotion stronger than fear. _But the moment he saw the people raise three fingers in unison, he knew the time for hoping was over. Soon all this pent-up rage mixed with the over-abundance of hope will form a reaction that overwhelms whatever's left of his broken District 11 Peacekeeping battalion. Ironically, he hopes too that this would happen.

He presses his gun to the man's head, and tries to think of a fitting word to say. _Sorry?_ If he was sorry he would put the gun to his mouth and blow his own head off. _Good-bye?_ They've never met, although he sees the eyes of all the people he's killed in this old man's eyes. _I know –_

"Thank you," he whispers, before pulling the trigger.


End file.
